


Gun Shy

by Angela



Category: Banana Fish
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-28
Updated: 2003-05-28
Packaged: 2019-02-09 09:06:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12884592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angela/pseuds/Angela
Summary: Shorter helps Ash realize that Eiji might mean more to him than he thought.





	Gun Shy

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during volume three, the morning that Ash gives Eiji the gun while they're holed up in Shorter's apartment.

Gun Shy  
by Angela  
10-28-03

 

It was too early to be up. Ash stared at himself in the dull mirror, running a hand through his hair in the hope that it would dry faster. Pale sunlight forced its way through the dirty window, and the light that bounced off the avocado tiles that lined the tiny bathroom made his face look sickly green. He leaned down to the faucet and drank deeply. The water was cold and metallic, smelling of rust.

He pulled his t-shirt over his head. It was yesterday’s shirt, which pretty much cancelled out the cold-water bath he’d taken in the chipped tub, but they’d been hiding out for the past twelve hours--there hadn’t been time to round up a change of clothes. Shorter had managed to locate some threadbare towels, but he hadn’t found too many extras in the apartment. He said he hadn’t used it in months. Ash could see why. The place was a dump.

Eiji was still asleep. Ash had been tempted to wake him, but decided against it. The kid wasn’t used to this kind of lifestyle. Hell, he probably wasn’t used to this kind of living arrangement. Ash imagined that it’d been nothing but soft hotel mattresses and room service for him so far. He wondered why Eiji had given that up to hide out with him.

No matter the reason, it made Ash feel good.

He went out into the hall, trying to muffle his steps on the creaky floor. His stomach growled. Maybe Shorter had been able to slip out for provisions--none of them had eaten since lunch the day before. If anyone knew how to get around Chinatown without being noticed, it was Shorter Wong. Ash hoped he’d get some toothpaste, too. Baking soda worked all right, but it tasted like shit.

The main room was empty, and so was the tiny kitchen. Ash flopped onto the couch. After those weeks in prison, it was almost unnerving to be alone. Almost, but not quite. He smiled to himself as he gazed a nearby window. The city was huge; he felt anonymous and free. The smells of Chinatown drifted through the open window--fish, frying food, diesel exhaust. He’d never appreciated them before, but this morning he was glad to be rid of the scent of male sweat and cigarette smoke.

He was happy. Sure, there was a lot of work to do--meeting Max Lobo only added fuel to his drive to discover the truth about banana fish--but somehow sharing this crappy apartment with Shorter and Eiji satisfied him. He’d had a sense of suspended tranquility since waking that morning. Eiji had been sleeping peacefully in the bed next to his and Shorter’s impatient snore could be heard from the living room. Waking up like that made Ash feel safe, safe like he hadn’t felt since before Griffin went overseas.

A scraping sound at the door yanked him from his thoughts. He jerked up from the couch, his hand automatically reaching to the gun that wasn’t tucked in the waistband of his jeans. As his hands gripped air, Ash’s eyes darted frantically around the room for some kind of weapon.

The deadbolt turned. The lock clicked. 

“Luuucy! I’m home from de club!” 

Shorter’s voice. Ash let out his breath, falling back and dropping his head on the flat pillows.

A moment later his friend was walking past, pulling a bandana from his shaved head. “I picked up some groceries.” The paper bags thunked heavily on the counter. Ash opened his eyes.

“Sounds like some heavy food,” he commented dryly. “Trying to give us indigestion?”

Shorter bustled around the kitchen, not answering as he banged a wok onto the stove. Ash listened as the wooden clunk of the cutting board followed, then the rhythmic chop and swish of vegetables being sliced. “You gonna talk to me?” he asked mildly, finally sitting up to look at his friend over the back of the couch.

Peering at him from over the rim of his sunglasses, Shorter frowned. “Only if you get your ass off the couch and help me out,” he complained. “You can put the groceries away while I make breakfast.”

Getting off the sofa took a bit more effort than Ash had expected--his limbs were heavy and lazy with this new relaxation. He trudged into the kitchen and peered into one of the bags. He blinked. “What the hell’s all this?” he asked, looking closely at a plastic bottle full of some kind of thick black sauce. Another bottle held a blood-red liquid that looked like it had tiny hands floating in it, and Ash wasn’t able to identify as single vegetable from the bundle of produce. “I thought you said you got food.”

Shorter laughed. “Come on, Ash! You’ve eaten enough Chinese food to have had these things a hundred times over! Stop complaining and put them in the fridge!”

Supposing that Shorter was right, that he just wasn’t familiar with the ingredients in their uncooked forms, Ash did as he was told. The second bag had toiletries--toothpaste! shampoo!--and something heavier, wrapped in newspaper. “What’s this?” he asked, knowing as soon as his fingers touched it what the answer would be.

“The police still have your piece, right?” Shorter dumped some rice from cardboard takeout boxes into the wok. “I figured you’d need another one fast, so I scared one up for you.” 

Ash stared at the pistol. It was an automatic weapon--easy to use and easy to carry. The serial numbers had been carefully filed off. He palmed it, testing its weight and feel. He aimed at a distant spot on the wall, then shook his head. “This won’t work for me,” he said softly. He was grateful for the gesture--Shorter was hiding out, too, and knew to avoid his old haunts and contacts. He’d gone out on a limb to get this for Ash, but it didn’t feel right. “I can get one of my old guns from Alex, once I get a hold of him. We can give this one to Eiji.”

His friend looked up from his cooking, concern blatant on his face. “D’ya think he needs one?” Shorter asked carefully. “The kid’s never held a gun in his life. It might not be a good idea to--“

“He’s got to be able to keep himself alive. Eiji will slow us down if we have to cover him all the time.” It still ached inside when Ash thought about Skip--he didn’t want to feel the same kind of heaviness again just because Eiji needed to prove himself. In a way, Shorter was right--it’d be better to keep Eiji out of everything, to send him back to Ibe and back to Japan--but they’d agreed to let him stay with them. Ash intended to keep his word, but that meant that Eiji would have to carry his own weight. “I can teach him to load and aim; he won’t be the greatest shot, but it might help him out of trouble.”

Shorter didn’t answer for a long time. He went back to his fried rice, expertly flipping it around faster than Ash’s eyes could keep up. 

Ash looked away, tucking the pistol into the waistband of his jeans. Shorter would understand; he knew a liability when he saw one. He found a clean-looking glass in the cupboard and turned on the faucet. The pipes thumped and groaned, and eventually a trickle of water emerged. Ash filled his glass and took a swig. Rust again, but better than some of the water he’d drank in the past. 

“You really like him, don’t you?” Shorter was staring with an inscrutable look. 

“Eiji?”

He scowled, turning quickly to tend to breakfast. “Who the hell else would I mean?”

Heat flooded Ash’s face. “But . . . you know I like girls,” he protested.

“I wouldn’t think the two are necessarily mutually exclusive,” Shorter responded dryly, cracking an egg into the sizzling wok. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, the way you let your guard down when he’s around.”

Ash didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He wanted to protest, but knew he’d never beat Shorter in an argument about emotions. The guy was like a shrink with all of his observations and advice. Ash didn’t like that his friend had taken his sense of responsibility for the kid, his sense of gratitude for what he’d done, and twisted it into something like that.

Shorter continued cooking, all the while watching Ash closely. “Besides,” he said, smirking, “if you don’t like him the way I meant, then why did you right away assume that’s how I meant it?”

“Think what you like,” Ash told his friend tightly, setting his glass on the counter with a loud clunk. “I’m still gonna give him the gun.”

“Breakfast in twenty,” the bald teenager called merrily over his shoulder. He knew he’d won the argument; Ash could hear it in his voice.

When he slipped back into the bedroom, he was still trying to shake the uneasy feeling the conversation had brought on. So much for relaxation and that lingering sense of tranquility. Now his stomach was tied in knots and his head was starting to hurt. The worst part was that he knew better than to let Shorter get to him like that.

Eiji was still sleeping. His hair was a riot of dark strands on the pillow, and he had somehow tangled himself in the sheets. Ash smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so soundly, so secure in his own safety. He sat on the opposite bed, leaning against the wall as he watched Eiji sleep. The kid was good looking--probably pretty popular with the girls back in Tokyo. Ash wondered what it was that made him come all the way to New York, what it was that made him suddenly unable to jump and compete and do all the things he’d trained so hard to do.

He remembered that jump in the alley--the way he’d planted that pipe and the graceful arch of his back as he sailed over the wall. Ash had felt a sense of awe that still lingered. He hadn’t felt that kind of respect for anyone except Griffin, and that was back when Griff was the big brother who could do anything in Ash’s eyes. When Eiji vaulted out of that dead end, it made him feel like he was in the presence of something extraordinary, like Eiji had an endless string of possibility that Ash lacked.

The boy mumbled something in Japanese, rolling over in his sleep to grasp at the pillow like it was a teddy bear. Or a lover.

Ash ran a hand through his hair, uncomfortable with the fact that the idea even spilled into his thoughts--Shorter had messed with his mind a bit more than he thought. A kid like that was too young for a lover--not in years, but in experience. Even Ash had never had a lover, not in any mutual sense. That kind of bond was dangerous in Ash’s world--he could barely fathom being able to trust someone enough to willingly get that close.

Unbidden, the memory of the kiss infused his mind. 

Eiji had responded willingly; Ash had barely had to coax the boy’s mouth open to give him the capsule. Ash flushed hotly at the recollection, despite being practically alone in the room. Of course, Ash was skilled--maybe Eiji had been responding to his professional mastery of kissing, rather than to him. The idea made him feel a bit . . . angry.

Ash shook his head; this was stupid. What did it matter why Eiji let him kiss him? He forced his mind away from the subject, wishing he could similarly banish the lingering sense of disquiet that came along with it.

“Hey,” Ash said softly, deciding it was time to wake the boy. He didn’t move. He touched his friend’s arm, careful not to startle him too much. “Eiji.” 

Nothing. Ash scowled, pushing harder. “Eiji, wake up!”

He shifted in his sleep, one had coming up to rub his eyes. “Jus’ a li’l bit longer . . .”

This kid was unbelievable! Deciding to have a bit of fun at Eiji’s expense, he pulled the pistol from his waistband. He checked the safety and aimed. The barrel was inches from his friend’s closed eyes. Ash cleared his throat.

Even before his eyes opened completely, Ash saw Eiji’s whole body stiffen--every muscle seeming to flex beneath the thin sheet. His eyes flew open, at once guarded and angry, and Ash realized he’s never seen that kind of expression on him before. For a second he looked tough.

“You awake now?” 

Those dark brown eyes flicked up in surprise to Ash’s face and suddenly his whole demeanor changed. The anger and fear in his face faded and his eyes became trusting and amused. His mouth pulled up into a grin. 

Ash’s heart skipped a beat.

Eiji laughed. “You really scared me!” he protested good-naturedly, his face flushing. “That’s a bad joke!”

Ash could barely focus. His mind was skittering all over the place, lingering over the contours of Eiji’s face, the messy spikes of his hair. The familiar surge of protective emotions swirled with something new, something frightening and comforting at the same time. 

This was not the time to analyze it.

“This is for you,” Ash answered, flipping the gun in his hand and handing it to Eiji. Eiji didn’t take it, just looked at him with wide eyes. “Use it to defend yourself,” he said brusquely, pushing the pistol into his friend’s hand.

Eiji didn’t say anything, but his expression--half surprised and half lost--made Ash soften. He couldn’t remember how he felt the first time he held a gun, but it couldn’t have been easy. He carefully taught Eiji how to use it--how to load and how to shoot. Target practice would have to come later--assuming they had time for it.

“When the shooting starts, I won’t be able to protect you.” Emotion made Ash’s voice unusually harsh. He looked into Eiji’s eyes, nervous of what he thought he saw there. “You’ve got to protect yourself,” he said in a more even tone.

Eiji stared straight into his face, his eyes doubtful but unwavering. He licked his lips. “Okay,” he said nervously.

Ash smirked. “Don’t look so glum. In five minutes, breakfast will be ready. Shorter’s making it--Chinese style.” He reached for the doorknob and took one last look at his friend, warily holding a gun amidst rumpled bed sheets. “Get dressed,” he advised. 

He leaned on the door as soon as he closed it, taking a deep breath and looking at the cracked ceiling as he listened to Eiji’s muffled movements inside. His breath came out in a ragged sigh, and he realized that he’d been holding it. What the hell was going on? His hands started to shake.

You really like him, don’t you?

When Shorter posed the question, Ash’s mind had immediately jumped to the complicated, romantic, sexual form of liking that he’d worked hard to avoid for most of his life. Of course he’d denied it. His stomach lurched uncomfortably. There was no real reason for Shorter to suspect he’d be interested in another guy--it wasn’t the sort of conclusion he’d jump to easily. Ash had spent a lot of time with a lot of guys in his life, and not once did Shorter accuse him of being in love.

Until Eiji. 

And then there was the way Eiji looked at him--the way his fearful look melted into absolute trust. Eiji believed in him completely, and he was at a loss to understand why.

It was almost too much to deal with. He shook his head, deciding that too much was at stake for him to be distracted now. He’d just have to work that much harder to keep Eiji safe so they could figure it out when everything was done.

Back in the kitchen, Ash dropped unceremoniously into a chair at the table. The chipped Formica was grey and flecked with shiny bits of teal--it looked like a Leave it to Beaver cast-off and was probably as old. Shorter was tossing something in the dented wok and a bamboo steamer rested on a pot of water on the back burner. The whole place smelled like a Chinese restaurant and Ash’s stomach growled. Prison food had been adequate, but bland. It would be a nice change to start the day with a real meal.

Shorter smiled over his shoulder when he heard his friend come in. “Did you wake our little prince?” he asked good-naturedly, seeming to forget their earlier conversation.

Ash couldn’t resist a smile. Shorter was soft with Eiji--it was almost endearing. “Yeah,” he answered easily, eyeing the dishes Shorter pulled out of the cabinet. They were chipped and dingy and they made him wonder how Shorter ended up with this crummy old apartment in the first place. “He was hard to get up, though. Kid sleeps like the dead.”

Shorter laughed. “You don’t get that much out here, huh?” he asked. Both he and Ash had learned at a very early age that waking up alert and ready to go could mean the difference between life and death. He rubbed and hand over his head, his mouth twitching playfully. “Is that why you were in there so long? The kid took a little coaxing?”

His insinuation was obvious. Ash ignored it. 

“We have a lot to do today, and I still have to find a gun. Any chance we’ll get to eat before sunset?” He knew he sounded surly and defensive, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He didn’t want to talk about Eiji, particularly in the way that Shorter wanted to.

“Good morning, Ash. Good morning, Shorter.”

For an instant, Ash’s breath caught. He wasn’t used to being startled, but Eiji’s voice had somehow managed it. He twisted in his seat. Eiji stood in the doorway, his hair damp and his shirt open. It was strange how, with his clothes on, he looked so small and harmless, but as soon as you got a glimpse of his tightly muscled chest and arms, it was clear the boy was an athlete. He stood awkwardly, combing his hair with his fingers. “I am not too late for breakfast?” he asked hopefully. “Too much activity has made me starving.”

“I was just about to serve,” Shorter said jovially, his face alight in a private joke. He winked at Ash over his sunglasses, leaving Eiji politely bewildered, but smiling. 

Shorter had made fried rice and a delicious-looking meat dish in a dark sauce. Steamed buns complimented the meal, and Ash couldn’t wait to eat. He filled his glass with water as the others poured tea. “Dig in,” the cook encouraged, filling their plates.

It burned. Ash’s eyes watered with the heat of it. He choked down the first bite and grimaced. “You didn’t say it’d be so spicy,” he protested, gulping his water.

Shorter looked nervous. “Spicy, huh?” he asked cautiously, looking warily at his dish.

Eiji coughed. “Chinese food in America is different from Chinese food in Japan,” he offered respectfully, taking a quick bite of his rice to chase down the taste of the meat. Ash watched his eyes widen as his teeth crunched against something hard. “Crispy rice? This is different, but good.”

Eager to try a safer route, Shorter reached for a bun. “Ahh, but dim sum is hard to screw up, right?” he asked, grinning. He took a huge bite, but ran to the trash to spit it out as soon as he’d tasted it. “How the hell did it get so sweet?” he asked, outraged.

Eiji laughed first. He tried to hide it; Ash saw him cover his mouth and choke back the first giggle. Shorter was making gagging sounds into the sink, his sunglasses forgotten on the counter. The Japanese boy made a quick face at Ash behind their friend’s back and suddenly Ash felt laughter welling up inside him, too. 

“Shut up,” Shorter protested between hacking coughs. “Nadia cooks at home!”

That only made them laugh harder, and in time, Shorter conceded with a chuckle of his own. Five minutes later they were trying to salvage any edible bits, still sniggering and snorting when eyes met. Ash discovered that, when rinsed of its fiery sauce, the meat was actually palatable. Eiji experimented with using the sweet buns to cancel out the spice. 

With a grin, Shorter’s eyes found Ash’s over the table, then Eiji suddenly looked up too, his dark eyes alight with happiness. Ash smiled, content once more as he had been that morning.


End file.
